A sinister silence.
Without one single word given me,
I cannot justify putting any more into print.
My time is spent here, now mourning among the thin
lines of my own making. Lost of any cause
or relief from an awful truth. One step removed,
one step back - jumping might do it,
it just might - but hold out
for the hand, to the man, with a call back to safety
don't be so hasty to judge this all fallen
flat
a glaring white sheet of fabric
a vast expanse of unimagined potential, casting no shadow
folding over corners in nobody's mind.
Forget it.
An abrupt black glob of oily ink, reflecting blue, tasting
naked of news but raking in memories of the
crunched up ends of chewed pens
nothing can make amends now
nothing can return the feeling of safety in numbers
of letters
of lines
or words, reworked and fine ... all mine - I and we all
are safe here, among our own chosen channels
be off among the worlds that do not abuse us,
away from those that do
and it will be quiet at the end of our day, a fueled silence
fallen over the sharp folds of life - smoothing, calmly,
softly, silently - seeping around our sores - isolating
us.
by Gareth Rosser |